


Fields of Gold

by Jaelijn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angel Wings, Gen, Hurt!Cas, Season/Series 04, Season/Series 05, Wings, hurt!castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2018-02-24 11:41:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2580197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaelijn/pseuds/Jaelijn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Castiel followed his commander Anael into rebellion, supporting her as second-in-command and standing against both Michael and Lucifer, he never doubted that his choice had been the right one, even if he disliked the term "assassin" that followed him like a shadow. He certainly didn't expected the task to kill the Vessels, the two humans whose death would bring the Apocalypse to a halt once and for all, to affect his loyalties in any way...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The original inspiration for this fic came from [this amazing gifset](http://thespywhospies.tumblr.com/post/92367427496/winchesters-the-angel-said-you-must-die) by [thespywhospies](http://thespywhospies.tumblr.com/), who gratiously gave me permission to write something for it!
> 
> Written for the SPN Gen BigBang 2014. Art by [Slinky](http://twisted-slinky.livejournal.com/); Masterpost [HERE](http://twisted-slinky.livejournal.com/90141.html).
> 
> A huge THANKS to [septembers_coda](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Septembers_coda/profile) for the very last minute but absolutely fabulous beta!

 

Fields of pure gold – this was how Castiel perceived the ripening wheat fields. He wasn’t – shouldn’t be, couldn’t afford to be – prone to romanticism, but he couldn’t shake his awe as he stood overlooking the field gleaming in the morning sun. So much of his world was shrouded in darkness, these days; he supposed he should be thankful for small wonders. There had been a time when he would have praised his Father for the beauty of His creation, but not anymore. Their Father had abandoned them, and his family, such as it had been, was no more. Now, there was just war, and Castiel, always a soldier, had become an assassin.

Castiel disliked the term, but it remained the only accurate description of his purpose, these days. He wondered, sometimes, whether he had erred – whether he should have heeded the words of his brother Raphael, and let the divine plan unfold without angelic intervention. Of course, no one really knew what God’s plan was, anymore. They all had been taught that it wasn’t in accordance with Lucifer’s, that doubting, questioning their Father and putting themselves above His creations was sin – but it had been a very long time since anyone had spoken to their Father, and there was no indication that Michael’s way was the right one.

Castiel folded his wings to his back, trapping the sun’s warmth between black feathers, and breathed. He needn’t, of course, his original vessel having long succumbed to the strains of civil war. The form he was wearing now was nothing but a reconstruction, devoid of the faithful soul that had once inhabited it. It was a gift from Anael, whose own form was a similar reconstruction. Castiel wouldn’t admit to having grown fond of this vessel, this body, but it had become part of what he expected to see when he walked amongst the humans and their multitude of reflective surfaces.

“Castiel.”

Castiel turned to face Samandriel without fear. He had been expecting a messenger, and it was only natural that Anael would decide to send their youngest. Samandriel was clever, fast, and loyal, but inconspicuous. In a few decades, if the war continued, his skill might be equal to Castiel’s own. Castiel didn’t know if there would still be an Earth left to fight for by then. There had been rumors that the true vessels had been found. Castiel had never seen his commander so agitated – Anael was usually compassionate and considerate, but an efficient and demanding leader who didn’t bow to pressure or immeasurable odds. She had been very successful: Both Lucifer and Michael had lost key personnel, and the apocalypse had been pushed back many years through her efforts. If the true vessels had been found, it might destroy not only their work, but any hope the Earth, humanity, had of continuing its existence. The fight between Michael and Lucifer would devastate the planet, and afterwards, there would only be Heaven.

Castiel had fond memories of Heaven, in the early days of creation, when he himself was just a young fledgling, standing on a shore with a brother – he forgot which, but he liked to imagine it had been Gabriel – watching evolution unfold before their eyes. Back then, Heaven had felt harmonious, his Father’s presence distant, but there, and Castiel had been safe in his belief and in the glory of creation. Of course, as he knew now, the seeds of destruction had already been planted. Within a few millennia, the Morningstar had Fallen, their Father had abandoned them, and Michael had become twisted by grief. Lucifer’s rising had heralded the imminent apocalypse for them all, but by that time, Castiel had already begun to doubt. Gabriel’s disappearance had been the first sign, he thought in retrospect. When Anael, his garrison leader even then, started the rebellion, Castiel had not hesitated to follow. That had been many years ago, by human measurements, and many decades by Heaven’s. No one had expected the doors to Hell to close so soon after Lucifer’s rising, leaving the Morningstar with only a reluctant army of demons who had been centuries without their creator and had forgotten how to serve him, as demons did all too easily. Since then, Lucifer had slowly been gaining followers, both demon and angel, and, if the rumors were true, human, but the expected battle with Michael had been set back by the lack of real vessels for either, and the lack of an unified army, now that the angels had split into three factions thanks to Anael’s rebellion.

“You have news?”

Samandriel nodded the blonde head of his vessel. It was still inhabited by a human soul, fragile as they were, gleaming like a precious diamond set within the angel’s grace. The human – Alfie Barton – had only been a vessel for a little over a year, and still his soul was strong. Castiel sometimes mourned the loss of Jimmy Novak, his own vessel, but he had heard reports that there were still angels in Heaven who were unconcerned with the goings-on on Earth and tended to the souls of the humans who passed. Castiel hoped that whatever Heaven had in store for Jimmy, it was a better lot than eternity tethered to the poor example of an angel he had become. Regardless, there was nothing Castiel could have done to keep him alive. Raphael’s rage had almost killed Castiel; his vessel hadn’t stood a chance in the face of an archangel. Samandriel’s rebellion, of course, had not been even remotely as public as Castiel’s. His true allegiance was known to only a few, even within their own ranks, and Castiel had no doubt that neither Raphael nor Michael suspected anything – Anael had proceeded with the greatest caution, as always.

“Yes. It is the vessels.”

“It is true, then. The true vessels have been found.”

Samandriel spread his wings, showing their underside subserviently. He could sense Castiel’s displeasure, of course. “They are brothers. Sam and Dean Winchester.”

“One of them is the righteous man?”

“Dean. The tale is a demon freed him from hell, demanding absolution for his equally as damned offspring in return. I couldn’t discover if he was working for Lucifer or Michael.”

Castiel turned his face into the sun, squinting slightly – another one of those human habits he no longer needed but hadn’t bothered to discontinue. “It doesn’t matter. You have done well, Samandriel. Return to your post.”

The young angel spread his wings once more, matching the color of the wheat in the sun, then, with a powerful flap of his wings, he was gone. Castiel turned his back on the field and its beauty. He needed to seek revelation with Anael.

 

 

Dean figured he was going insane. It didn’t come entirely unexpected – hey, he’d been to friggin’ Hell, and he still had no idea how he’d gotten out – but then again, he’d been back for just under a year, and nothing weird had happened since. True, there’d been some strange demon activity that had the hunter community on its toes a few months back, and Bobby had them hunt down a couple of freak thunderstorms, but nothing had come out of it. All in all, it was just more of the same: finding the evil thing, killing the evil thing. Not even Sam’s supernatural powers had made a reappearance. But Dean could have sworn that, since a week or so, something was stalking them. He felt constantly watched, a prickling on his scalp making the hair on his neck stand on end. Sam didn’t feel anything, or at least he pretended not to when Dean quizzed him, and they tried to carry on business as usual – but it was getting hard when Dean started _seeing_ things. There was that weird Pizza Hut employee who stared at him for too long, too intensely, and then, in the evening, showed up in the parking lot of their motel – at least, Dean thought he had. By the time he’d called Sam over, the figure was gone, with no sign it had never been there in the first place. And then there was the entire host of demons they’d dug up just last week, who, instead of even trying to put up a fight, had all smoked out and disappeared into the ether. Even Sam had admitted that was odd.

Still, the crowning gem of his descent into insanity had to be the fact that he could have sworn to Hell and back that he’d seen a winged person by the side of the road as they drove down the interstate in the dead of night. Rock music was blaring, and by the time Dean had pulled to the curb, he’d managed to wake Sam up, but there was no figure, nor the sound of anyone, or anything, running away. He’d seen a lot of weird shit, but friggin’ angels? Besides, angels were supposed to be little dudes in diapers playing harps on clouds, not human-sized, dark, dangerous things with big-ass black wings spreading out behind them and a gleaming blade in hand. That sounded like a description of grim reapers more than anything – except Dean had met the grim reaper, and they were nothing like that. No scythe, for one.

Sam, of course, had gone into nerd mode and enlightened him that there was more lore on angels than on any other supernatural creature, and that some of that lore was truly ancient, and that angels were supposed to be warriors of good, not ornamental musicians – regardless, Dean didn’t believe in angels. There was a lot of supernatural shit out there already; if there were angels, some hunter would have met one somewhere. So, it had to have been a trick of the light, or a trick of the mind; ergo, he was going bonkers. It might be a nice change, but Sam didn’t seem to find it in the least funny.

“What if we’re missing something big, Dean? Like those freak demons and those storms – what if they are signs, and we’re just walking right past them?”

“Signs of what?”

Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. But if angels are getting involved-”

“There are no friggin’ angels, Sam!”

“Says the person who saw one.”

“I’m going crazy, I tell you. Complete tutu. There’s no such thing as angels. We should get to Bobby’s, see what he has to say.”

“That’s actually a sensible suggestion for a nut job. Bobby has lore on everything, I’m sure he’s looked into angels before.”

“Look, just stop it, Sam! I couldn’t have seen an angel because angels don’t exist.”

“Why are you so sure about that?”

“Are you kidding me? Have you looked around lately? How there’s war and death and terrorism and famine and pandemics, how good people keep dying while the douchebags walk away? How everywhere we go we find a monster to kill? You can’t tell me that there’s a heavenly army out there, because if there is, they suck ass!”

“What do I know? Maybe this is what God wants.”

“If you tell me He works mysterious ways, I’ll make you walk to Bobby’s!”

Sam just shrugged, and that was the end of that conversation. They would never make it to Bobby’s.

 

Anael’s garrison had once commanded one of Heaven’s gates. They had kept it safe from demons, and had watched Earth from afar. Interferences were rare, and demons who strayed that far even rarer, but Anael had never allowed placidity to settle into her ranks. Those who’d followed her into rebellion were loyal without a doubt, and amongst the best warriors in Heaven – after all, if any garrison had ever encountered battle, it had been them. Castiel, of course, had always been more of a strategist, and he acknowledged without pride that he excelled at it. If the need had arisen, he could have planned and executed a siege on Hell itself, but of course that was an exercise that was both superfluous and futile. Lucifer was walking the Earth, in whatever replacement vessel he had dug up, and Michael, of course, resided in Heaven. Hell, as such, held no interest for them.

There had been some discussion of using it as a base in the early days of the rebellion – or, better yet, using Purgatory. In the end, they had decided against a permanent base of operations. A large gathering of angels attracted attention, not only of the Heavenly Host, but also of demons and humans, even though the latter tended to write them off as natural weather phenomena. Castiel still knew where and when to find his commander. Anael resided on a mountaintop, this time, her power, just marginally above Castiel’s own, shrouding the rough rocks and deep abyss beyond in swirling snow. When Castiel’s grace touched with hers, a bolt of thunder cracked through the night, but Castiel was quick to fall into a submissive stance. He was second-in-command, but he was only that. Anael demanded and deserved his respect.

She stood, seeming petite in her red-haired vessel, her wings spread out high and majestically behind her, regardless of the storm. “Castiel. What news?”

“The vessels have indeed been found. Anael, this development is of the greatest concern. We should consult with the others. Balthazar and Uriel–”

Anael lowered her wings a little, making her more approachable, more human. Castiel had never understood why she insisted on such a human style, her decisions being based on argument and accordance rather than order, but she had earned the respect of every angel who had joined the rebellion, and of some who hadn’t. “I thought you had heard. Castiel, Uriel joined Lucifer’s ranks, and Balthazar has been reported dead.”

Castiel straightened, though he kept his wings low. He could be terrifying, if he chose to, but he couldn’t allow himself to pose an unintentional challenge to Anael, no matter how startled he was. “That is… bad news.” Uriel and Balthazar had both been old friends, and good comrades – members of the garrison, and under Castiel’s command, when he still was leading them as a soldier. Now, he worked alone, but it would have been very remiss of him not to remember who had tirelessly fought by his side for millennia, and to care for them, as deeply as an angel could. He was their first line of approach in important matters, the one contact to Anael when she was forced to go underground whenever Michael, or Lucifer, were getting too close. By now, Castiel had a reputation of his own, and neither of the other factions had yet set upon him. Castiel had not expected to be feared when he’d been a fledgling, but it served his purpose well.

“There will be time to grieve for our brother,” Anael assured him, her voice soft regardless of the snowstorm around them. It wasn’t as though the forces of nature could touch them. “Now, we must act.”

“I have watched the vessels, the Winchesters, briefly. There is no indication that they have been contacted by either Michael or Lucifer yet. They have not been hidden, and don’t seem to be aware of the war.”

“Just humans, then, for now.”

“So it would seem.”

“That is good. We cannot allow them to become vessels.”

“Of course not.”

“You know what must be done, then.”

Castiel knew. For the sake of humanity as a whole, these humans had to be forever eliminated as vessels – which meant that simply killing them would not be enough. Once in Heaven, Michael would only bring them back to life. No, their atoms had to be scattered across the universe, their souls obliterated. It was an unpleasant fate, but Castiel could not afford to muster up compassion for Lucifer’s vessel and a man who’d been to Hell and had escaped only through a demon’s involvement. “I am aware.”

Anael nodded, her wings twitching in the angelic equivalent. “I suggest Samandriel. He has walked amongst humans unknown for a long time, and his affiliation with the rebellion is unknown. If he encounters Lucifer’s or Michael’s minions, he will not meet with immediate opposition.”

“No. Samandriel’s position is too valuable. The war will not end once the vessels are destroyed. Michael and Lucifer will continue to build their armies, and we have no one who can move as freely amongst their ranks as Samandriel. If we send him on this mission, he will be compromised.”

Anael clearly did not like to be contradicted, but she always heard Castiel out. “Who do you suggest?”

“I volunteer my services. The vessels have not been marked yet. I will move quickly. I don’t expect to encounter any opposition, and Samandriel’s unique opportunities will be preserved.”

“Very well, Castiel. I trust your judgment. Don’t fail me.”

“I won’t. Commander.” Castiel spread out his wings once more time, then beat them sharply and within seconds he was at the other end of the continent.


	2. Chapter 2

The motel was actually pretty disgusting. It hadn’t looked too bad from the outside, but they never did. If it hadn’t been for the limited leg room, Dean would have voted for sleeping in the car, or not sleeping at all. Then again, they hadn’t even planned on stopping. As hunters, however, they couldn’t just drive by a town brimming with demon signs and do nothing. So, they crashed in the motel and got their energies together to head out in the morning and gank some of those SOBs.

At least his mystery wing man hadn’t made another appearance, for which Dean was absurdly grateful. Just thinking of the thing, whatever it had been, gave him the shivers, and after a lifetime of hunting, there wasn’t much that did that. His dreams that night were a disturbing mixture of battle scenes that seemed so otherworldly that Dean could have sworn they came right out of a video game (if he’d played those) and flashbacks to his time in Hell, which had lessened in intensity, but still weren’t conductive to a restful night.

Sam gamely put up with his grumpiness in the morning. He hadn’t complained much since Ruby had disappeared on them without a trace and those weird phenomena had started cropping up. Dean still didn’t think there was anything to it, but in combination with the wing man, they were starting to creep him out a little. After all, a freaking hurricane – in Nevada? They, or rather, Bobby, had consulted several meteorologists, but no one seemed to have any explanation for how a storm that was supposed to form over the sea had started up slap-bang in the middle of the continent, where you’d expect tornadoes, but not hurricanes.

“Let’s just go and get those demons, Dean. We can worry about that other stuff when we get to Bobby’s.”

“Yeah, okay. You got the knife?”

“Always.”

“Let’s go, then.”

They found the demons in a warehouse at the edge of town, a whole bunch of them, but they didn’t put up much of a fight – after Sam had stabbed one or two with the knife, and Dean had started spraying them with holy water, a thunderstorm underscoring their fight, the rest of them smoked out, leaving behind only dead vessels. It was weird, but not as weird as the parting words of one of them: “You will know what it means to serve Him soon, Sam Winchester.”

Dean rounded on his brother, eyebrows raised. “Dude?” He was dabbing at a scrape on his cheek, but that was his own damn fault.

Sam looked fine, if disturbed. “I have no idea, Dean.”

Above them, the storm rattled the roof of the warehouse.

“We should get out of here, before someone comes to investigate – or the thing crashes down on our heads.”

They made it as far as the door – there, silhouetted by the lightning, stood Dean’s winged man.

“Holy shit!”

The thing spread its wings in time with a thunderclap, making the powerful, massive, blue-black-feathered appendages tower above their heads. It, he, whatever, looked human, except for the wings: He was just a little shorted than Dean, though the wings made him seem much taller, dark brownish mussed hair, a dark suit and dark shirt to match with his wings and eyes that were piercing, blue and terrifying. “Winchesters.” His voice was like gravel, dark and somber. There was no threat in his stance, his hands empty, but everything about him demanded respect, obedience, submission.

Dean curled his hand around his gun, but somehow he doubted that it would do anything against this creature. “Who the hell are you?!”

To his absolute astonishment, the creature actually answered, locking his gaze unblinking on Dean’s. “My name is Castiel.”

“ _What_ are you?”, Sam chimed in from Dean’s right.

Again, the thing, Castiel, answered, but his gaze never left Dean’s face. “I’m an angel of the rebellion.”

“The what now?”

Anger flashed in Castiel’s eyes, and he beat his wings, flinging dust into both their faces. “There is no time for a discussion. You are the Winchesters. You must die.”

They both immediately backed away, raising their weapons. Castiel didn’t even blink. Dean fired his gun, at point blank range. The angel’s wings shivered slightly, but that was all the reaction Dean got. He found the slight smile curling Castiel’s lips as he looked up from the bullet wound to be the most terrifying thing he’d ever seen.

“Dean Winchester, there is nothing you can do to stop me.”

“Wait, aren’t angels supposed to be warriors of Heaven – and, you know, protect people?”

Dean had to leave it to his little brother – during the time he’d been in Hell, Sam had developed some sass.

Castiel’s gaze swiveled to him. “I owe no explanation to Lucifer’s vessel.”

Sam spluttered. “Lucifer’s…?!”

“You leave my brother alone!”

Castiel looked back at him, his expression blank, but somehow less stern. He was silent.

Dean forced himself to press on, despite the fact that his heart was about to leap out his throat. “You explain yourself or so help me-”

“God? God hasn’t been listening for many years, Dean Winchester. Heaven is no longer protecting humanity – we are. Your deaths will stall the apocalypse for many centuries, perhaps forever.”

“What apocalypse! You’d think we notice something like that. Not exactly strangers to the supernatural, you know.”

Castiel’s jaw twitched. He was clearly getting impatient, but what the hell. Dean couldn’t do anything but stall, and so far, it was working. “You have noticed. Storms. Demon activity.” Castiel nodded towards the bodies of the demons on the ground behind them. “You’ve had your explanation. Now-” He raised his hands, his wings flaring high and throwing stark shadows over them.

“Wait! We don’t want this apocalypse any more than you do! Why can’t we work together? Help each other?”

Castiel’s hand dropped back to his side, and he tilted his head, for the first time looking more curious than fearsome. “You are Michael and Lucifer’s true vessels. Your mere existence is a threat to your entire planet, and you offer your help? You surprise me, Dean Winchester.”

“Look, we don’t want to be vessels, okay. How about you let us live, and we keep away from those guys – plus, if you’ll ever need a favor, you know – we’ll be there.”

Castiel turned his gaze away, looking up as if for guidance – maybe he was. His wings had lowered to the point where they were almost tugged behind his back. “It won’t be that simple. You will have to stay away from demons and angels. You will have to change your name, your identity – your appearance, if you can. I would also advise against hunting ghosts.”

“You’re considering it? Really? I mean, friggin’ fantastic. Just tell us what to do, and we’ll do it.”

“I don’t owe allegiance to you, Winchester, but I serve humanity. If your lives can be spared, then so be it.” Castiel took two quick steps forwards, and slammed his hands hard into both their stomachs, a harsh, bright light erupting from them.

Dean felt a sharp pain that took his breath away, but Castiel had already withdrawn his hand again, standing not even an arm-length away. “What the hell?”

“I’ve branded your ribs. You are hidden from angels and demons now, unless you come face to face. Avoid them at all costs. Don’t pray. Disappear. If you cross my path again, I will kill you.”

“Okay…”

“No more time. Michael’s soldiers must have followed me.” Castiel pressed two fingers to his forehead, then Sam’s, and an instant later, the two brothers stood many miles away in Bobby Singer’s living room.

 

Castiel left the barn an instant later, and went to Antarctica to compose himself. He had just committed a severe breach of his orders, and Anael, for all her wisdom, would not take kindly to it if he gave himself away. Rebellion had taught him that the right thing was not an equivalent of the order coming from above, but he still wondered what had possessed him to listen to a human whose simple existence could mean the death of his entire garrison, and the destruction of the entire planet. It had been the right thing to do, he was sure – but no one must ever know. He hoped that Michael’s soldiers would find the demons and assume that they had been the reason he had been there, or that they would follow him here, where he would have no difficulty dispatching them. It was unlikely that they would be able to discover that the Winchesters had been there.

Castiel would have to report to Anael now, and he would lie. He was sure that she would feel his dishonesty, no matter his efforts, and punish him for it, but there was nothing she could do to force him to give out the truth, and she trusted him enough to not go looking for the vessels when he told her they were gone. He might lose his position as second-in-command, but that was a price Castiel was willing to pay if he managed to save two lives, and, more importantly, two souls.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean had been having weird dreams. They weren’t like his usual nightmares, not exactly. Bad things, very bad things happened, but they never seemed to happen to him, or to anyone for whom he cared – but it was all a bit fuzzy when he woke up in the mornings, so he couldn’t really be sure. He chalked it down to boredom.

They had been lying low at Bobby’s for weeks now, not even daring to rescue the Impala for fear that the place was still swarming with demons or angels. Bobby especially had been adamant. The news of a pending apocalypse had scared the hunter more than he tried to let on, and he had delved into research – to all their horror, he had only found confirmation of the angel’s words. Castiel, if that was his real name, was only a footnote in angel lore, angel of Thursday, apparently, but not one of the big names. The big names – Michael, Raphael, Gabriel, Lucifer – were archangels, and if what Castiel had said was true, Michael and Lucifer, the angel turned devil, were about to have a massive prizefight, if not for the third faction, whoever they were, to which Castiel apparently belonged – the Rebellion, or whatever. It turned out, at the very least, that the freak thunderstorms and the overabundance of demon signs stopped right after their encounter with the angel, lending further credence to his words.

Dean would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that he’d been scared witless. The thought of being a vessel to anything, even if it was an angel, was bad enough – imagining that their existence was imperative to the apocalypse even more so. Sure, Sam and he had seen some weird shit in their time, more than other hunters, perhaps, what with the whole Azazel thing and Sam’s abilities and Dean’s stint in Hell (and he still didn’t know how he’d gotten out), but still. Dean didn’t have such an inflated sense of his own importance that he considered himself paramount to the fate of the world. Apparently, he’d been wrong.

Sam seemed to take quite well to the slow days at Bobby’s, filling them up with research, playing phone service for other hunters or tracking down evil things that needed to be taken care of – not by them, of course. _They_ had to keep flying below the radar. Dean couldn’t say that he wasn’t grateful for the break, but he would have liked to know that it would _end_ someday. So far, that was looking really unlikely. So, he was bored, and spend his day out in the scrapyard, putting together a vintage car from scratch, even though he had no attachment to it at all – not like Baby, which was still stuck near the warehouse since Castiel had zapped them away – however that worked. Frankly, it had given Dean indigestion, and he wasn’t eager to try it again. Not that that was likely, either. At any rate, he had far too much time to ponder the dreams, and was getting nowhere. Maybe he ought to see a psychiatrist. Yeah, right.

 

_“Castiel, what happened with the Winchesters?”_

_“They are gone.”_

_“Are they dead?”_

_“They are gone.”_

_“Did you fail?”_

_“No.”_

_“You found them?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Are they dead?”_

_“They are gone.”_

_“Dead?”_

_“Gone.”_

_“Castiel, why won’t you speak truthfully? You are only harming yourself.”_

_“They are gone. That is the truth.”_

_“But why won’t you confirm that they are dead?”_

_“They are gone.”_

When Castiel came to himself, he found that only a month or two had passed on Earth – no time at all, from angelic perspective, but in the meantime, his entire reality had changed. Anael, as he had expected, hadn’t been pleased. She had persisted in her interrogation for so long that Castiel was struggling to remember his first report, was struggling to remember anything other than _They are gone_ , which had become his mantra, against his will. It seemed the only safe thing to say, the only thing he had been able to utter without speaking blatant untruth. It was hard to say, to think, anything else, even after his punishment had ceased. And still, he had known immediately when Anael had given up – when the angels she had ordered to bring him to obedience had left him alone for the first time in what felt like years. They had left him, still suspended by his wings with bonds that were not corporeal and that could not be broken from within. Castiel had made use of those spells before, whenever he was tasked with killing one of Michael’s faction; he knew the futility of struggling, and so he didn’t. Nonetheless, the sustained period of utter powerlessness, immobility, cut off from his grace, had started fraying at his mind, eating away at his senses, memories, conscious thoughts. Still, his brothers and sisters had not been able to break into the truth he had buried so deeply that even he was struggling to unearth it. Castiel pitied them for their task, bound to failure from the start. It was a distasteful assignment, a thing for demons or lesser angels, but Anael’s forces, strong as they were, were limited in diversity. Almost all angels of the rebellion were Seraphs like Castiel and Anael; only a few of the Cupids, as the humans called them, had joined their ranks. Most of Heaven’s soldiers were not designed to consider disobedience, or to think beyond what order they were carrying out.

Still, with freedom, Castiel had found, came pride, and jealousy, and ambition. He had no doubt that some of his brothers and sisters had harbored less than charitable feelings towards him. After all, he was young by Heaven’s standards, and while his purpose in the rebellion was necessary, it was also despised. Many, he was sure, felt that he was unsuited as second-in-command, and Castiel was tempted to agree with them.

As painful as those considerations were, Castiel welcomed them. In the void that came after the incessant interrogation, he welcomed any thought that took him away from the here and now, that expanded on the frightening limitation of his form. His mind hadn’t wandered from this place in a long time, and his senses no longer could, but now that silence had fallen, it felt like his mind had been set free, even if his body wasn’t. They were still somewhere on Earth, he was sure – Anael had no stronghold in Heaven, after all – but his senses were dulled to the point where he could perceive nothing but the ache of his immobilized body, spread out like the Savior had once been. Castiel had once found the time to marvel at the coincidence that humans would chose this form of capital punishment, believing it part of the divine plan – of course, now that he knew how flawed that plan truly was, he found the irony both cruel and unnecessary, and he had begun to wonder whether Christ had not been just another human with whom Heaven decided to toy as though he was replaceable and individually worthless. After all, those had been the years just before their Father had disappeared.

By angelic measure, Castiel wasn’t the most patient, and after a long period of silence, he could no longer resist the urge to tug at his bonds. As expected, they only coiled more tightly around his grace, restricting and stealing his breath – such as it was. He did not believe that Anael would leave him. She knew now that he would not give her another answer – the worst things that could be done to an angel had already been done. This position alone was humiliation, a display of his sin, which, though Castiel couldn’t perceive the presence of angels other than the ones who had interrogated him, had doubtlessly been public for all of the rebellion to see. The binding of his grace was just another part of it. Still, Anael’s resources were too limited. She could not be sure of his complete loyalty from this point on, but she couldn’t afford to lose his skill. He would be demoted, publically and humiliatingly, but he would be allowed to stay, and after some time during which he would be forced to be nothing more than an errand boy, there would come along a task that could not be accomplished by an angel of lesser skill, most of whom had never harmed one of their siblings, let alone learned how to strike a fatal blow.

Eventually, after too long on his own and restrained as he was, Castiel fell into the void that was akin to human sleep, but nothing as restful or recharging. In an angel, it was a sign of failing grace, or the lack of access to it, and it was just as deeply humiliating as that lack in and of itself. To be forced to leave oneself so exposed, so unprotected, was disgraceful, but Castiel had no choice – and that, for an angel of the rebellion, was perhaps the greatest punishment of all.

When he awoke, his grace was tethered, but no longer fully restrained. The thought that he had been touched, moved, seen by others while he had been in the void made him sick, but he swallowed it down, folding his wings around himself, shielding himself from the outside world before even opening the eyes of his vessel. It was a relief to hear his grace sing again with every action, and as necessary, as _deserved_ his punishment had been, Castiel felt profound relief that it was over. He had expected to be bound to one of his brethren for the time being, to assure his continued allegiance – how could Anael risk sending him on missions on his own when she was unaware of the extent of his betrayal? – but the humiliation was minor. Besides, Castiel wouldn’t have made any other choice, not even now that he had suffered the consequences. He felt a trust in the Winchesters such as he had not felt since losing faith in his Father. It was a surprise, and Castiel was struggling to find a logical reason for it, but his conviction that he had made the right choice remained unshakable. He wondered idly whether he had created a second rebellion comprised of two ignorant humans, who would by perhaps simply by remaining uninvolved do more to stop the apocalypse than Anael’s faction ever had.

“Heya, bucko. Welcome back.”

Castiel’s wings snapped down in submission of their own accord at the sound of the voice, as casual and flippant as it was: The force of grace behind it was as powerful as it was restrained by its owner. Now that he was aware, Castiel could feel it pushing against the bond, too much, far too much for an angel like himself, if its owner should chose to unleash it. Castiel didn’t dare look up – he was already kneeling, and if necessary, he would throw himself to the floor in front of the being that held his life in its hands. He had expected to be tethered, yes, but not to the angel who stood before him now. “Gabriel.”

“Oh, stop it.”

Castiel looked up tentatively, and found that they were in a human dwelling, one of the abandoned huts Anael had commandeered for the faction. The archangel was sitting at a desk, casually leaning back with his feet on it, and sucking a lollipop – a human sweet. Gabriel had always been a bit strange, but Castiel had held affection and respect for his older brother, which had not lessened since his disappearance – after all, that was no worse an offense than Castiel’s rebellion, though he had often wished Gabriel had chosen to stand by them. Nonetheless, Gabriel’s bond with the other archangels had always been closer than that of the ordinary Seraph, and Castiel could imagine how painful it must be to stand against your closest brothers – after all, he had killed members of his garrison before.

He kept his wings splayed out on the ground, the vulnerable underside on full display, and wondered. Had Gabriel been amongst the rebellion all this time, unbeknownst to Castiel? Had he joined them recently? Had he found Castiel and removed him from Anael’s hands while he was unaware? Though he had gotten used to the idea that Anael would arrange for him to be tethered, he had not expected this, and the development was confusing. It was good, perhaps, that the thought of giving up the truth after all scared him more deeply than an archangel’s wrath (which he had experienced before), or he might have given a full report on the Winchesters right then and there. Still, if Anael was aiming to reaffirm his loyalties, Gabriel might be the only angel in existence capable of it. Anael, even though she had been his commander for aeons, was still just a seraph, of higher rank, maybe, but not of greater power. Gabriel’s power, by contrast, was unimaginable.

Gabriel pulled out the lollipop, regarding it quizzically, before looking at Castiel. “You look like a kicked puppy when you do that.”

“Gabriel.”

“Yes. I thought we’d already covered that.”

“I am astonished.”

“Yeah. I could tell.” Gabriel plopped his legs to the ground, leaning forward and waving his sweet as he gesticulated in that flamboyant way Castiel remembered so well, even though the archangel had acquired a new vessel and was carefully concealing his wings along with the rest of his true form. Castiel wasn’t sure if it was a habit of Gabriel’s, such as the other human quirks he was displaying, or whether he was considered unworthy of viewing an archangel’s wings. The thought alone made him lower his gaze to the floorboards again.

“Look, Cas.”

Castiel flinched at the nickname, and didn’t look up, his wings shivering.

“I couldn’t stay away, could I? Not with all that buzz on angel radio. First the true vessels are found – and then, apparently, they are ‘gone’, and thanks to you. Anael wasn’t impressed, but you probably knew that.”

Castiel said nothing. There was nothing to say.

Gabriel leaned back, tilting his chair back and forth and speaking around the lollipop. “You know, I didn’t think she’d let me do it, but I guess she was getting desperate. She’s just lost her best assassin, after all. Of course, you’ll be no use to her like this.” Gabriel pushed against the bond, and Castiel gasped at the overcharge of power. He was sure it was bleeding out of his vessel, but he didn’t dare fight. “Anyway, I told her I’d take care of it, so here I am. Not sure if that means that I’m now the “Archangel of Rebellion”, but who’s keeping track anyway, eh?”

“My allegiance hasn’t changed,” Castiel said, and wondered if it was true. At the very least, he still wanted to stop the apocalypse as much as he ever had, and he was quite certain that if the Winchesters should ever expose themselves again, he would not hesitate. He had disobeyed, yes, but was it really sin to save two souls, ignorant, though not necessarily innocent? Was it really necessary that these humans should be obliterated – not just killed, but erased from existence? And yet, what had been so special about the Winchesters that they, above all humans, had stayed his hand?

“I suppose it’s pointless asking what happened. Anael has already done that, and it’s not done her any good – or you.” Gabriel shoved a chair with his foot. “Sit down, for Heaven’s sake. This kneeling is making me itchy.”

Castiel did as he was ordered, even though it went against his instincts. He had thought that, after his rebellion, the obedience towards higher-ranking angels that had been ingrained in his very being had disappeared, especially since he had faced of Raphael – not necessarily successfully, but at least he had survived. Quite apparently, he had been wrong. He didn’t dare fold his wings, even though keeping them spread out in mid-air was draining, nor did he dare face the archangel, but Gabriel seemed satisfied for now.

“That’s better. Just so we’re clear – the tether wasn’t my idea. I don’t like it, but I wouldn’t have gotten any further with Anael if I hadn’t agreed to it. She is stubborn!” Gabriel chuckled, clicking the sweet against his vessel’s teeth. “Meh, I figure it’s a good quality to have in this situation. You are allowed to speak, by the way. It’s like talking to a brick wall!”

“I have nothing to say,” Castiel replied, a spark of defiance flaring up. Gabriel’s tendency to ramble was well known in Heaven – he was the messenger, after all – but Castiel wished he would come to the point.

“I doubt that, but whatever. Candy?” Gabriel held out his hand, suddenly full of sugary trinkets.

Castiel didn’t dare refuse, even though he didn’t enjoy human food. Due to his grace, he could taste every one of its components, but it was hard to find the sum of them. Gabriel didn’t seem to be cumbered by such limitations. Castiel pushed the chocolaty ball into his mouth and tried not to grimace.

“I suppose you’re wondering what will happen next.”

“I was.”

“Well, for now, we are the rebellion’s relay station. The fighting has stuttered to a halt after your heroics, whatever they were, and the factions are now just spying on each other and waiting to see what will happen. I give it a month or so before word gets out that the vessels are still out there, and then the race will begin.”

“The Winchesters are gone.”

Gabriel tilted his head and grinned broadly. “So you keep telling everyone, bucko, but you’re not fooling me. You haven’t killed them, or you would have said so – that’s what’s disturbing Anael. Little brother, you’re clever, but I am the trickster. I trick people for a living, have been for years.”

Castiel’s patience snapped, his wings flaring up. “Why didn’t you stand with us in the early days of the rebellion? The true vessels might never have been found if you had!”

“Whoa! I knew I’d like you!” Gabriel waved his lollipop and winked at him, infuriatingly cheerful. He shrugged, unconcerned. “I was going to watch it happen. I just wanted the fighting to be over – we are killing _each other_ , and you can’t convince me it’s not making you sick every single time you get into a fight on Anael’s orders that ends with you stabbing one of your siblings.”

“The apocalypse will devastate Earth. We were made to protect creation, not destroy it!”

“Hells yeah!” Gabriel plopped his feet back onto the table. “You tell me how to do that! Soon, Michael and Lucifer are going to realize that they want the same thing, and your little rebellion will be snuffed out in an instant, whether I stand by it or not. I guess you won’t try telling me that the humans will refuse to become vessels when Michael and Lucifer show up on their doorstep.”

“The Winchesters might,” Castiel said, and instantly wished he could take it back.

Gabriel raised his eyebrows. “Anael was right, then, not to trust you again. No matter. I am all for stopping the apocalypse, little brother, but you’ve got to realize that we’re only drawing out the inevitable. You can’t kill Michael, or Lucifer – no one can. This apocalypse will happen, sooner or later, and all I’m doing here is stopping the deadliest assassin of all factions from killing more of my family!”

Castiel snapped his wings back and rose, too angry for fear. “I am not a killer.”

“Newsflash – you are! How many is it now?”

Castiel turned his back. “43.” He hadn’t set out to keep count, and he tried his best to ignore the number, even if he couldn’t forget the names or appearances of the brothers and sisters he had been forced to kill in combat.

“See! I just want the killing to stop! I want us to be a family again!”

Castiel thought that Gabriel was just afraid to face the fact that they hadn’t been a family for a long, long time, but he kept that to himself. “What now?”

“Now you’ll be a good little angel and sit here quietly, and when someone comes around with a message, we’ll pass it on to Anael. That’s it.”


	4. Chapter 4

Just when Dean thought he was going to go insane from boredom, Bobby decided it was time to send them on hunts again. Nothing complicated, no demons, no angels, no ghosts, no weird unidentified things, but they were on the road again, and got to kill a vampire here, a werewolf there, a wendigo the other night. They even tracked down a djinn. It was almost like the old days, only now Bobby was thinking three times sending them on a hunt now, and going off on their own was out of the question. Dean could get used to that, as long as they were moving. Besides, there had been no signs of angels or demons for months, no crossroad deals, no strange weather. It was almost like they had vanished from the face of the Earth, and Dean desperately hoped it wasn’t just because they were off the radar now and the factions were regrouping (though that looked more likely with every passing day). But hey, on the plus side, the dreams had stopped.

They still talked about the apocalypse. Sam read up on _everything_ , and he kept Dean in the know as best as he could. Not that there was anything they could do about it, apparently, except stay hidden, no matter how much Dean would have liked to remove that Damocles’ sword forever. It wasn’t looking like they could do much of anything, even if Castiel’s words hadn’t hung above them as a warning. Dean had to admit to burning curiosity when it came to the angel. He was clearly nothing like what Dean had expected, but he seemed to have disappointed Sam’s expectations, as well. Sam had always been the one of them to believe in that sort of stuff – religion, whatever – but it hadn’t come up since they’d stood in that barn, face to face with an angel who had looked dark, dangerous and intent on killing them – until Dean had talked him out of it. He still had no idea how that had happened, but Dean didn’t like looking a gift horse in the mouth.

Anyway, they were slowly getting their former lives back on track, or rather on the asphalt, and Dean had never felt better than when they were speeding down the road in the recovered Impala, windows down and music blaring. He hadn’t expected it to last – nothing ever did for them – but the end came with surprising force.

It started, he supposed in retrospect, with the second village they came across that had fallen victim to the Croatoan virus. There were only a few zombies left to kill; most of the village had already been killed or eaten. Still, it was the first truly _odd_ thing in months, and the fact that there was lore linking the Croatoan plague to the end of the world didn’t exactly lighten anyone’s spirits. Bobby wanted them to hole up in a hotel, wait it out, but Dean was adamant to keep moving. If Croatoan and the apocalypse were linked, then either angels or demons were bound to turn up – and if they did, Dean and Sam had to be far away from them. He wasn’t sure if he should put trust in Castiel, of all people (or things), but it was better to stay away than to be vessel-ified. They’d had enough brushes with demon vessels to know that anything was better than that. Of course, he didn’t know then that their drive would take them down a country road right into a thunderstorm that had hung about that area for days, barely weakening, which was all Bobby could tell them before the connection cut off.

Dean chucked the phone onto the dashboard with a curse. Visibility was practically zero – night was falling, and the storm did the rest. There was no way they could turn back now, but if they pressed forward, maybe they could find the reason for this supernatural storm and stop it. There was a chance it was angels, of course, but if it was, they were screwed if they stayed, anyway, so they might as well walk into the lion’s den, figure out if the demon knife could kill angels or die trying. And maybe it wasn’t angels after all, just some other thing they didn’t know about yet.

Sam wasn’t thrilled about the situation, either, but the fact that this was no man’s land made him tentatively positive. “What the hell would angels be doing around here, anyway? It’s not like there would be anything interesting here, either for demons or angels. Looks more like vengeful ghost activity to me – a battlefield? Ancient ghosts can be very powerful.”

“It’s not like we have a choice, do we?”

Sam shrugged, staring at the rain beating ceaselessly against the windows. “I suppose not.”

“I don’t like it either, Sammy.”

“But you’ve been wanting to meet another angel.”

Dean said nothing to that. He had to confess, he was wondering. If Castiel had told the truth, if he really was an angel, bona fide soldier of Heaven, or whatever, then maybe he had a clue who’d pulled Dean out of hell. Maybe he’d even done it, or one of his angel buddies. Dean wished whoever it was had left a note, a clue, anything. But he had just climbed out of his grave, driven to Bobby’s and scared the crap out of the older hunter, but had no clue as to how and who and why. Dean wasn’t the praying type, even before Castiel’s warning, but it had occurred to him that it might be worth a try, because the riddle was friggin’ eating away at him.

He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

“Let’s kill this thing, then.”

They drove on through the incessant rain until the road turned to a gravel path and still on, until, suddenly, the rain stopped. It was still hitting the rear of the Impala, shaking the car around with gusts of wind, but the front was clear – the sky above them free, and the area illuminated by moonlight. Dean let the car roll to a stop, and climbed out, followed closely by Sam.

“Eye of the storm?”

“Looks like it.” Sam turned to look back at the storm front behind them, unmoving. “It looks like it’s lessening anyway, though.”

“Bobby says it’s been going for days. Why would it stop now?”

“Maybe it’s us.”

Dean cranked open the trunk, and started gearing up, flashlights first. “Doubt it.” He had to admit, though, he too had noticed the rain becoming less heavy, the gusts of wind more seldom, with breaks in between. When they’d started out, he’d been struggling to even keep the Impala on the road; during the last hour or so, the storm had been more of a nuisance than an obstacle.

They both geared up with everything they could think of. Iron, salt, holy water, even stakes on the off-chance they ran into a trickster. There was a thrill in not knowing what to expect that Dean had missed a little, admittedly, but he could have gone without the inherent danger of the unknown.

“Let’s head out, then.”

They hadn’t been walking for five minutes, heading towards what Sam reckoned to be the dead center, when they came across what looked like an abandoned fallout shelter. The bunker was still half-buried in the sand, but erosion had eaten away on the artificial hill that had been heaped above it, and it was plainly visible on the landscape, even at night. There was a fading “Keep out” sign, but that had never stopped the Winchesters before – besides, there was no sound coming from within, so it might be a bust after all. Or some lunatic had holed up in the bunker and starved and was now going ghost crazy and causing freak weather. Either way, it would be an easy hunt.

The door to the bunker had been broken open fairly recently. Dean took stand before it, sending Sam around the thing for a quick recon. It wasn’t as though there was a lot of it sticking out above ground, but it was always good to know about backdoors and second exits – besides, the storm was getting progressively weaker now, it was almost like watching water drain out of a sink. Dean really hoped that it was because the thing powering it was weakening, and not because it was conserving its energies to strike out at them.

Sam reported back with just a shake of his head – no other exits or windows – and Dean nudged the door open with his foot. The inside was lit with red emergency lights – something was still generating energy, then, even though it had been abandoned for years. They stepped onto a gangway above a large room with high ceiling, a staircase leading down to the right. Now, they could hear a commotion, frantic movements, a struggle. Dean hefted his gun, trusting Sam to have his back, and peered over the reeling.

His first impression was off a trapped bird – gigantic, yes, but still just a trapped bird. Frantic black wings flapped up and down, not gaining any altitude, only stirring dustflakes that had first been disturbed days, maybe weeks ago. Of course it wasn’t really a bird – there were no birds that enormous that Dean had ever heard of, and amid the panicked movements, he caught a glimpse of a distinctly human, male body. He turned towards Sam and mouthed “angel”, pointing down, before he turned again for a closer look. The angel seemed trapped in something by his ankle, though Dean couldn’t really tell what from his position, the black wings that spanned almost the entire breadth of the room obscuring a lot. He could tell the creature was tiring, though, the movements becoming less powerful by the second, and when one of the wings struck sharply against the wall, the angel cried out wordlessly and tumbled to the ground. He caught himself, drawing in the wings, but it was neither graceful nor coordinated, and the angel remained on the ground, hunched over and shaking. Dean still couldn’t really tell what was keeping him trapped in the dim light, but there was something sparkling on the ground, a rope or chain maybe.

Sam, who had joined him by the reeling, nudged Dean with a wordless _What now?_

Dean shrugged, then shone his flashlight over the edge right at the angel. “Need help?!”

The angel’s head snapped up, his gaze boring into Dean’s – and there was no mistaking the guy. If he was the source of the storm, he had obviously been trying for days, but that hadn’t changed much: Down on the ground below them, rapped and unable to escape, was Castiel.

Dean could see the same instant recognition on the angel’s face, and it darkened in a scowl. “You.”

“Us,” Dean shot back with false cheer. “Need help?”

“You shouldn’t be here,” Castiel said, but he made no effort to move, or rise. Maybe he couldn’t. His hair was matted down with sweat, his wings were glistening and shivering as if with exhaustion.

Dean tugged his gun away and started down the stairs, ignoring Sam’s warning. Right now, Castiel looked nothing like the fearful creature they’d met so many months ago, and Dean wasn’t afraid.

Castiel’s eyes never left him, tracking every bit of his movement, but he remained slumped on the concrete floor, barely holding himself up. His wings had dropped to the ground, limp. “Stay back.”

“Why should I?”

“I ought to kill you.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

He only received a glare as reply.

Dean stopped a good distance away, nonetheless, tracking the thin, silverish chain that was fixed to a cuff around the angel’s right ankle to a ring on the floor. Ring, cuff and chain were edged with some strange symbols in a language Dean didn’t recognize, but they looked far too thin to hold a being with such forceful wings unless they were magic, which was likely. “Need help?” he asked for a third time, not sure why he was offering. If the angel were free, they’d probably be dead already.

“No,” Castiel snarled, even though it was a blatant lie, and the angel definitely knew it.

Dean shrugged. “Okay.” He put his flashlight to the floor and sat down crosslegged beside it, facing the angel at eyelevel.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Castiel said again, but his voice had less force behind it, and his eyelids were drooping. Exhaustion, clearly. “Where is your brother?”

“Oh, Sammy’s around.”

Castiel’s eyes travelled to the gangway, but Sam had apparently disappeared from sight. The angel pulled in his wings, holding himself up on his arms, but clearly tiring more every second. Apparently, not even adrenalin was working for him anymore, if angels had something like that. To Dean’s surprise, the wings flickered once they were drawn fully in, and then disappeared from view entirely. Castiel gave a pained groan, his face ashen, and closed his eyes for much longer than one would just to blink, before forcing them open again, meeting Dean’s grin. Without his wings, he looked just like a human in a weird, black suit and tie outfit, as if he were going to a funeral. “What do you want?”

“Oh, I could sit here and wait until you faint and see if I have something that’ll kill you. Or you could tell me how to get you out and we call it quits.”

Surprise, confusion and suspicion flickered in quick succession over Castiel’s face. “Why would you do that?”

“You spared our lives when you had us in your power. I’d just return the favor, clear the debt.”

“You owe me nothing, Dean. What I did was for the safety of humanity,” Castiel replied, his voice surprisingly soft. It didn’t escape Dean’s attention that, for the first time, the angel had used only his first name.

“Well, Cas, thanks a bunch. So, what’s it going to be?”

The angel’s gaze lingered on Dean’s face for a long time after the nickname, but eventually he lowered it to the floor. “You can do nothing for me.”

“You know what, I am sick and tired of people telling me what I can and can’t do. I want to, and I’ll find a way. Just tell me what needs to be done. I have a hacksaw in the car.”

“This isn’t just a material chain!” Castiel shot back, clearly trying for angry, but failing. His voice was wrecked, his arm starting to tremble. “The spellwork is very complicated – your weapons would do nothing. I…” He shut his eyes, breathing deeply. “It can only been broken from the outside.”

“I’m out.”

“ _You_ don’t have the power.”

“Then I’ll find someone who has.”

“No!” Castiel’s eye’s snapped wide open again, firmly locking onto Dean’s. “You won’t! I didn’t disobey for this! I have not risked everything, lost everything, so you can walk right into their hands!”

“Well, your escape attempts have been causing freak weather.”

Castiel shook his head, his eyes clenching shut. “I _told_ you to stay away. Why do you do the exact opposite, whatever I say?”

“Hey, we were staying low. It wasn’t exactly planned. We were cleaning up after this Croatoan thing, and we sort of stumbled into you.”

Castiel made a pained sound at the word ‘Croatoan’, but didn’t reply.

“Who chained you up, anyway?”

“Uriel. One of Lucifer’s followers. He was an old friend. I thought… maybe… he’d changed his mind…” With that, Castiel pitched forward, and would have crashed nose first into the floor if Dean hadn’t jumped in to catch him. Without his wings, he didn’t feel or look any different from any other dude, and he made no move to put distance between them again. He just sat there on the ground, shoulders quivering, his forehead on Dean’s shoulder and breathing heavily.

Dean patted his upper arm, feeling awkward. He was semi-hugging an angel. Yeah. Definitely odd, even if the angel was mostly out of it. “Sammy? A little help?”

Sam came clattering down the stairs an instant later, and together they propped the angel up against the nearest wall. It stretched the chain tight, but it worked out. Castiel seemed to still be awake and aware on some level, though he had offered no resistance or support when they moved him. Once he was resting against the wall, he tipped his head back until it knocked against the concrete.

“Do you reckon he can drink holy water? That’s all I have on me.” Sam held out the flask to Dean, who looked back at the angel.

“Hell if I know.”

Castiel opened his eyes a slit. “It won’t harm me. Thank you,” he added when Dean passed the flask to him, and then proceeded to empty it in large gulps.

“Huh. I didn’t think angels needed to eat. Or drink.”

“We don’t. Not… usually. You should… leave.”

“We’ve been over that already, Cas.”

The angel’s eyes flickered open again at the nickname. “Uriel will be back sooner or later. I was a fool. You shouldn’t have to pay for my mistakes. Lucifer mustn’t find you… Sam. Dean… I would rather kill you both.”

“Yeah, like that’s going to happen.”

Castiel’s hand closed around Dean’s wrist with astonishing force. “ _Please_ leave.”

“Not without you.”

The angel’s grip loosened. “Why?”

Dean didn’t have a good answer for that. “Sammy, see if you can do something about that chain.”

Sam moved away, fussing around behind Dean’s back. “Uh, it’s Enochian spellwork. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Eno-what?”

“Enochian,” Castiel murmured, his head rolling limply against the wall. “Our… language.”

Suddenly, there was deafening bang of thunder that shook the entire bunker and rattled the gangway. Castiel’s grip tightened feebly.

“Was that you?”

To Dean’s horror, the angel shook his head with a pained expression. “ _No_.”

“Shit.” Dean made to rise, but Castiel wouldn’t let go. To Dean’s astonishment, his eyes were again open, piercing and blue.

“It’s not Lucifer. Or Michael. You can… use this.” Suddenly, there was a blade in Castiel’s hand – longish, silver, simple, looking almost blunt, but razor-sharp when Dean brushed against the edge. It thrummed with energy, gleaming in the dark. Castiel pushed against his arm, pushing him away. “Good… luck.”

Dean didn’t wait around to see if he fainted after that – he raced up the stairs, followed by Sam, and took position in the entrance, where they were away from Castiel, and where it was easier to defend themselves. It wasn’t exactly hard to spot the lone figure of an angel who had appeared by the bunker. The storm had mostly abated, and even at night, the angel’s wings stood out with the dirt-yellow plumage. The feathers were just this shy of gold that they looked cheap. Dean sneered at the swaggering, self-assured approach of the newcomer, and hid Castiel’s blade as much from view as he could.

“Oh, two humans. What a nice surprise.”

The angel actually had the audacity to grin crookedly.

“And who the hell are you?”

“I’m Zachariah.”

“Lucifer or Michael?”

The angel’s eyes narrowed at that. “Michael. And you… There is something about you. Well, no matter. Step aside. This building contains a very dangerous angel – if he hadn’t been weakened, I am sure he would have killed you already. So, step aside, and let good old me take care of it, yes?”

That was about as much of the smug dick as Dean could take. “You stay away from Cas.” He brought up the blade, and jammed it right into the angel’s throat. “And we are the Winchesters.”

Zachariah’s wings beat wildly for a few seconds, then his body erupted in light, a piercing, unhuman scream tearing through the air. Dean let go of the sword out of pure reflex, shielding his eyes against the blast. When the light was gone, Zachariah’s body was on the ground, spread-eagled, the ugly wings burned to a black mark on the ground.

“Dude. Did we just kill an angel?”

“Looks like it.” Dean stepped closer to the corpse and pulled out the blade. “Yeah. I don’t think he’s going to come alive again.”

“What about Castiel?”

“What about him?”

“He threatened to kill us. Now, we have a weapon that can kill him.”

“We’re not doing that, Sam.”

“Why not? What reason do we have to trust him?”

“I’m not stabbing the guy in the back while he’s down. Besides, if he’s telling the truth, he’s risked a lot by sparing us. Ganking him doesn’t seem like a fair way of repaying him.”

“You never liked it when we were working with Ruby.”

“I still didn’t stab her while she was sleeping. Besides, she was a friggin’ demon.”

Sam lifted an eyebrow. “It doesn’t really look like angels are much better.”

Dean had nothing to say to that. He wiped the blood off the blade – it came off easy, the edge still as razor-sharp as it had been before it tore through skin and tissue. Dean wondered how many deaths the blade had seen, and a shiver ran down his spine. “Whatever. We free Cas now, we have him off our backs for good. I have no idea what they are, but they seem to stick to their word.”

Sam shrugged. “Fair enough. It’s worth a shot, at least. Let’s just try and get out of here before he wakes up.”

Castiel had, indeed, fallen unconscious. He lay slumped against the wall, unmoving, his breathing a low huff in the stale air. Dean didn’t think that angels needed to breathe – or that they could fall unconscious like any other thing they’d ever hunted. The chain was still there, unsurprisingly, and glinted bluish.

Dean hefted the blade in his hand. It would be easy, rid the world of another supernatural thing – but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. They owed Castiel – and even if they didn’t he probably _knew_ stuff. If only there were a way to make him talk without having to sit around this particular hotspot that would soon be swarming with angels. Dean switched the blade over in his hand, then brought it down hard on the chain.

There was a flash of light, a shrill whine – and then Dean found himself cuffed to Castiel by a chain running from his wrist to the angel’s, and the other chain was gone.

“Friggin’-” Dean pulled at the cuff, but it was unyielding. It wasn’t entirely uncomfortable, felt more like a liquid than a metal, a little cold on his pulsepoint – but it wasn’t moving, and it wasn’t coming off.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing, I don’t know, no friggin’ idea! Friggin’ fantastic!” Dean tugged – but all that did was pull at Castiel’s arm. The angel remained completely limp.

In the end, they had no choice but to lug Castiel back to the car with them – at least, the angel had made his wings disappear, or they would have had trouble getting him into the backseat. Turned out, the chain was not physical: It passed through car door and seats as if it were no more than light, and Dean felt a little calmer when he sat behind the wheel. Maybe the chain would disappear on its own – or maybe it wouldn’t actually hinder them at all – maybe it was a sort of metaphysical “you saved me” thing and Cas could make it disappear when he came to.

Castiel didn’t come to for a long time, remaining perfectly still for the entire drive to Bobby’s – who just about had a fit when they turned up on his doorstep with an angel on the backseat, but at least he’d been forewarned. Dean was sure there was also curiosity behind the grumpiness. Dean felt it with him, but he’d have liked to be out of the cuff before the angel woke up and decided to smite them, after all.


	5. Chapter 5

Castiel awoke slowly, feeling… unwell. It was one thing to be tortured by angels, who existed mainly outside the physical plane, but what Uriel had done to him – he’d been rendered practically human, and Castiel wasn’t sure if it could even be reversed. It was disquieting – Castiel, who had once been the most knowledgeable assassin, caught in a trap he didn’t understand. Gabriel would not be pleased, and he certainly wouldn’t appreciate Castiel’s rescuers. While Castiel felt a certain gratitude and relief that it had been the Winchesters and not some random human, demon, or worse, angel, he could not – should not allow himself to be close to them. It was dangerous, and they, quite evidently, where entirely ignorant of the scope of that danger. Besides, they clearly didn’t understand that everything had changed. The apocalypse had stalled, but that was the least of it. Loyalty, the allegiance of angels, was never split. It could not be – and try as he might… Oh, but the pain!

Castiel arched his back and made a sound, his throat feeling raw and sore. His wings were heavy, useless weights, hidden though they were – every nerve ending was burning with exhaustion, the feathers painfully mussed and astray.

“Hey, take it easy.”

 _Dean_. Castiel’s eyes snapped open. He was in a strange room, metallic ceiling high above him – and he was still bound. His grace was wearing itself out against the bond, which explained the physical pain and exhaustion – only, now he wasn’t chained to an inanimate object. The bond ran from his wrist to Dean’s. “What have you done, you fool!?”

Dean brought up his hands in a placating gesture. “Whoa, all right, calm down!”

Castiel barely had the strength to push himself up on his elbow, but he wasn’t fool enough to show it. He wrenched his wings from their hiding place with a clap of thunder, flaring them up as high as they would go.

Dean, his eyes flickering over the wings, at least had the decency to back away, the chain moving with him. He carried an angel blade, and Castiel was hard pressed to remember why he’d been so naïve as to hand it over.

“What have you done, human? This is beyond you. Unbind me immediately!”

Dean’s eyes snapped back to his. “Would if I could, Cas, okay? I tried to destroy the chain with this blade thing and it just transferred to my wrist. Can’t you-”

Castiel ground his teeth. “It can only be broken from the outside.”

“Oh. Right.”

Castiel exhaled deeply. Surprisingly, he believed Dean. He sagged down on the cot he had woken up on, what little energy he could expend depleted.

Dean twisted on his spot, trying to peer into his face. “Do you… need anything?”

“Put down the blade.”

To Castiel’s astonishment, Dean immediately did, though he kept it away from Castiel – not that the angel couldn’t have crossed the room in a blink – the only chain was the one binding him to Dean.

“You look… sick.”

Castiel tilted his head. He wasn’t used to reading the inflections of the human voice. It was difficult to even understand Gabriel, occasionally, but at least the archangel’s grace was just as expressive as his voice. Dean’s soul shone bright, but it didn’t speak. Concern or curiosity – or malice, whatever it was, he could hardly do any more harm by revealing some information. “I suppose I am. The chain is draining me.” Castiel pulled in his wings, muscles screaming in protest. “Do you have water?”

“‘Course.” Dean pulled a plastic bottle from a cabinet, unscrewed the lid and passed the bottle to Castiel, keeping as much distance as he could. Castiel regarded the water with a frown, not daring to drink. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t trust this human, this hunter who had not even the slightest understanding of what he was facing and of the enormity of Castiel’s actions. It didn’t matter that the angel would die to protect the Winchesters, would follow them to the end without hesitation – because that was loyalty, was allegiance for angels. The Winchesters, mere humans, had no hope of ever comprehending that.

“Oh, for God’s sake!” Dean pulled the bottle out of his grip – an unpleasant reminder of just how weak he was – and drank down a large gulp. Castiel watched his throat work. “There, not drugged. It’s perfectly good.”

Castiel took the bottle back, spreading some of his grace out to bless it, and drained it. He could have drunk more, but he didn’t ask. He also ignored the gnawing sensation in his stomach – hunger – in favor of surveying his surroundings. They were in a circular room, protected by layers of warding, but equipped for moderate comfort. There were cupboards, a desk, and two beds – one in the center of the room, where Castiel was sitting, and one by the wall.

Castiel shook his wings, but the discomfort didn’t go away. They would need to be carefully tended to, but he wasn’t in a position to do that here. He would not submit to a human in the gesture of vulnerability that was necessary for grooming – Castiel had not sunk that low.

“You’re about to keel over, aren’t you?”

Castiel just glared at him. Dean clearly didn’t feel the effects of the chain on his essence, his soul yet – maybe it was too early. Even Castiel hadn’t realized its full strength until it was way too late, and he had once been famous for knowing everything about trapping his brothers and sisters. He had never found pride in the knowledge, in the number of angels he had killed, nor had he entertained cruelty. He supposed the closeness of Lucifer’s faction to demons had the ability to corrupt even an honorable soldier like Uriel had once been. Now, of course, Castiel was no longer an assassin, or a commander, though by Gabriel’s leniency he was once more a soldier, rather than a mere errand boy.

Gabriel had tired quickly of the enforced tethering – as an archangel, he had other methods of keeping watch over Castiel, regardless of the fact that Castiel had given his word. Of course, Gabriel must have realized even then that Castiel’s word was only reliable when uttered to the holder of his true loyalty. Even know, with annoyance at the human still at the back of his mind, Castiel didn’t regret his decision. He could only hope that, if Uriel’s original bond had kept him hidden from Gabriel, the one tying him to Dean now was doing the same.

“Cas?”

How curious that Dean was actually interested in his reply. “I won’t… keel over,” Castiel said, crossing his legs under him on the cot to take strain off his wings.

Dean nodded curtly and flopped down on the other cot, loose-limbed. “It doesn’t look like you’re up to much.”

While Dean was staring up at the ceiling, Castiel forced his wings to move and reality to bend around him just enough so he could collect his blade and hide it from human view and return to the cot. Dean, of course, didn’t even notice he had moved at all, but it drained Castiel more than he liked. Gabriel, of course, would have been able to release him from the bond instantly, but the consequences for the Winchesters did not bear contemplating. Castiel breathed deeply, centering his flickering grace. “If your intentions are amiable, you will allow me free rein.”

Dean didn’t meet his gaze, but his eyes flickered with anger and resignation. “Yeah, buddy. You and me both. We’re stuck here until Sam and Bobby figure out how to get rid of this chain thing.” Dean cracked his shoulders. “You might as well sleep if you feel like it.”

“Angels don’t require sleep.”

“Well, you sure did.”

“I require privacy.”

“Too bad for you.”

“You haven’t warded against angels. It’s not safe.”

Dean leant forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Come on, your mooks can’t be all bad.”

“They were the ones who ordered me to kill you, Dean.”

“Okay…”

“And Gabriel will try to manipulate you.”

“Gabriel. As in-?”

“The archangel, yes. Of course.”

Dean looked flabbergasted. “Of course.”

“Yes.”

“Okay, can you stop doing that?”

Castiel ceased every activity before even realizing that this was the instinctive response to a commanding officer’s instructions. He balked at the notion, and shook himself out of it. This was just a human. “Stop what?”

“Rustling your feathers. It’s making me all itchy.”

Castiel considered another display of power, but he really couldn’t summon the energy. “I wouldn’t need to “rustle” them, if they weren’t in disarray. I require privacy for grooming.”

“Well, you’re stuck with me.” Dean lifted his wrist and Castiel felt the movement clearly through the chain.

“So I had noticed.”

“I could give you a hand,” Dean said, then grinned as though he had just made a fabulous joke. Castiel had never understood human humor.

“No.”

“Just no?”

“It is not… acceptable for humans to touch an angel’s wings. It is only permitted to the closest family members.” Since the Rebellion, there had been no one whom Castiel trusted with grooming, or who would allow Castiel the honor, not even Anael. It had been a drawback that came with his reputation.

“Fine.” Dean shrugged. “Just thought I’d help.”

Castiel was finding it increasingly difficult to rein in his feelings of loyalty and affection for the human – he hoped the bond wasn’t capable of transmitting these sensations to Dean, as the tether between him and Gabriel had done. He purposefully refrained from replying.

The silence only lasted so long. Dean, as humans always did, grew restless and started pacing the room, while Castiel followed him with his gaze from the center. The chain, of course, was metaphysical in nature, and did not restrict their movements to a significant degree, even though Castiel suspected that he would not be able to distance himself too far from Dean, just as he had not been able to fly away when he’d been chained to the bolt in the floor.

He retreated into his center, conserving and focusing his energy, without relaxing his vigilance. When, after minutes or hours, a bolt slid back on the heavy iron door to the room, he was instantly on his feet, his blade at the ready. Dean gave a cry of surprise, from somewhere behind him, and then a human hand pressed against his right wing.

“Cas, what the hell?”

Castiel had almost repelled the touch with as forceful a surge of energy as he could muster, but at Dean’s voice, the blast simmered and died before he discharged it, and Castiel drew in his wings tightly, stepping aside to stand beside the human. He would not offer an explanation – would not reveal that his instinctive response to a threat had been to protect the human. Still, Castiel was at the point where he had to admit to himself, at least, that his loyalty had unquestionably transferred. The Winchesters were now his charge. “Apologies.”

Dean made theatrics out of cleaning feathers that weren’t there off his face – Castiel had been close, but not insensitive – spluttering.

Castiel just frowned. The humans needed to learn – needed to understand, fast, or he would be forced to commit the unspeakable act of destroying the subject of his loyalty to save them from a fate worse than death. Gabriel might have been able to tell him what it was like to have a charge – Mary had been his charge, for a short while – but the days when Castiel would turn to his older brother for advice were past.

“Dean? Everything all right?”

It was Sam Winchester. Castiel instantly relaxed some of the tension, leaving his grace free-flowing and ready. Sam, though he was Lucifer’s designated vessel, had not been entirely polluted by demonic influence, as far as Castiel could tell. There were traces of it, hanging over the young human’s head, but it was a taint only, nothing like the destruction Lucifer would have to wreak before Sam could become an even remotely fitting vessel. Of course, the Morningstar had means enough, should he lay hands on the human.

“Yeah, everything’s fine, Sammy.”

Another bolt slid back, the door slowly being pulled open.

Castiel found the relationship between the two brothers fascinating – he wasn’t sure if that was what stayed his hand: The Righteous Man speaking out for the Abomination, or a brother protecting a brother. Both, in his world, had become a rarity. Regret was not something Castiel entertained – in his previous position, he hadn’t been able to afford it, and, unlike Gabriel, he didn’t believe that his brothers and sisters, even though he still called them that, could ever become a harmonious family again. Perhaps such thoughts were blasphemous, to deny the cleansing power of the paradise they had been promised, but Castiel couldn’t believe anything good would come out of so much destruction and fratricide.    

Sam was alone in front of the door, though there was a man lingering in the background, a tattered cap sitting askew on his head and a disgruntled expression on his face. His soul, though as frayed as his cap, was pure, his intentions friendly. Castiel relaxed a little more. “Hello, Sam.”

Sam’s gaze snapped towards him, startled, and surprised. “Uh… hey, Castiel. Um.” He looked back at his brother. “We think we’ve found a way to break that spell.”

“It’s very powerful Enochian work,” Castiel said.

“Yeah, genius, we figured,” the man groused from behind Sam and stepped to the front. “Bobby. Bobby Singer. And let me tell you, boy, this is not the first Enochian spell I’ve dismantled.”

Dean huffed a nervous laugh. “Don’t mind Bobby, Cas – he’s a little gruff sometimes but his heart’s in the right place.”

“Jeez, thanks, Dean. How about you ask your angel who pulled you out of Hell before we do this and he flaps off.”

Castiel frowned, turning towards Dean. “Is this the reason you saved me?”

 

Dean felt buckets of sweat running down his spine when Castiel turned to face him, frowning. It wasn’t that the angel looked threatening – at least not as blatantly as he had already seen Cas. He looked more… disappointed, but somehow it made Dean all the more nervous. “Uh, no – well, I was wondering if you knew, okay? But I would have gotten you out anyway. Quid pro quo, yeah?”

“I did not spare your lives to do you a favor, Dean! In fact, it might have been kinder to kill you. Even after all I told you, you still underestimate the danger.”

“Give me a break, Cas! You got to admit it’s a little far-fetched? Angel wars? The friggin’ Apocalypse?”

“These aren’t “angel wars”. These…” Castiel trailed off and shook his head, frustration clearly visible in his stance. After a moment of silence, he looked back up at Bobby and Sam. “How will you break the spell?”

“We think a little Holy Water, one of your fancy blades, a few choice words in Enochian and a bit of something called Holy Oil might do the trick.”

“Holy Oil, yes. It might work.”

That was the first good news Dean had heard all day. “Great. Where do we get it?”

Sam’s face instantly fell. “We don’t really know. We were going to try blessing olive oil.”

“It won’t work. Holy Oil is very rare. It can only be obtained in Jerusalem.”

And there went Dean’s hope. “Friggin’ great.”

“I might be able to fetch it,” Castiel said. “It will not be pleasant.”

“Hang on, you wanna fly across half the world despite this thing?” Dean shook his wrist, moving the chain with it. He tried not to find it strange that it passed through Castiel’s wings as if it weren’t there.

“It might be possible. But it will put a strain on my grace and your soul.”

“My soul can’t be worth much anyway. I sold it to a demon. I’ve been in hell.”

Castiel squinted at him. “No. Your soul has been cleansed. It is pure.”

That was… news. “How can it be?”

“I don’t know.” Castiel turned back towards Bobby. “I will attempt to fetch the oil.”

Dean barely even saw the dustflakes that Cas’s wings had disturbed settle down again before the pain set it. He felt like being ripped apart – but nothing like being torn to shreds by hellhounds. This was – this was hell. This was how the torture in the pit had been like: intimate, unrelenting, cruel, draining, but without the relief of unconscious or death. He heard screaming, but whose it was might as well have been a question as impossible as “what’s the meaning of life?”.

And then, it was over, and Castiel was leaning over him. “Dean?”

“What happened?”

The angel looked ashen, even sicklier than before, but at least he was upright – Dean, however, was lying down on the cot. Sam and Bobby just hovered in the background, almost shielded from view by Cas’s wings. They were muttering over something – a mug or a clay jar, maybe. His vision was a little fuzzy.

“Shit.”

“How do you feel?”

“Like shit, Cas. What do you think?!”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your friggin’ fault, is it?”

“You should never have come into this position.”

“Can it, Cas.” Dean pushed himself up on his elbows, groaning. His muscles were sore as if he’d spent the day hunting non-stop instead of sitting on his backside in Bobby’s panic room. “So can we get rid of this spell or whatever it is?”

Sam perked up. “Yes, we think so.”

“Without it transferring to you?”

“Yes.”

Dean didn’t like the false confidence in his brother’s voice, but if that was the best they could do, then so be it.

“Right. If this goes wrong, Cas, and you touch a hair on Sam’s head, I will hunt you down and kill you, you get that?”

“I won’t harm Sam,” Castiel said, as if that were one of the few things he was sure about. But then the angel had a strange gravitas about almost everything, so Dean shrugged it off as inconsequential. He shifted, spreading out a bit of the chain between them. “Get on it, then.”

As rituals went, this one was fairly simple. After double-checking the words with Cas and reclaiming the silver blade Cas had, somehow, acquired again, Sam alternated sprinkling water and oil on the chain while muttering the words, then tapped it once lightly with the blade. At first, nothing happened at all. The oil and water were sizzling against the not-metal as if it were hot, but that was about it.

“A bust, then?” Dean asked – or was about to ask, when the sigils along the chain lit up, and then it was gone.  

Castiel retreated a few steps, his wings flared high, his eyes glowing strangely, before he looked back up. Dean, to be honest, didn’t really feel much different. He inspected his wrist, and didn’t even found a mark. “That’s it? It’s gone.”

Castiel nodded. “Yes. I-” Suddenly, his eyes went wide. “You haven’t warded against angels! They will find you! They have…”

Dean barely heard Bobby’s muttered: “Balls!” though he definitely shared the sentiment. “What can we do? Cas, will the warding keep them out?”

“Yes – but they will not tire. It would be no difficulty to lay siege to this house until you give in. Or until you die, and can be resurrected for their purposes. I am sorry, Dean, Sam – I cannot hold them off.”

“So, we run. And take the fight to them? Hell, we’ve stopped bad things before.”

“Dean, it’s the _Apocalypse_ ,” Bobby said, a cruel voice of reason in Dean’s outburst.

“Cas, can we stop it?”

“I don’t know.” Castiel tilted his head. “I am… impressed you are willing to try.”

“I’m not letting Lucifer ride Sam’s ass – or becoming Michael’s vessel myself. You’re with us?”

Castiel’s _Yes_ came so quickly and without hesitation that, for a moment, everyone in the room fell silent, motionless.

“Wow,” Sam said finally, and Dean could get down with that.

“Right – what now?”

“Gabriel will be here first.” Castiel started into action. “Hand me the Oil.”


	6. Chapter 6

Castiel could feel Gabriel calling out to him, trying to connect with him as he often had since Castiel had first been tethered to him. It would only be a matter of minutes until he found him, and while Gabriel might not smite the humans on sight, Castiel had never been entirely certain of the archangel’s loyalties. They certainly didn’t lie with Anael, no matter what his former commander had been led to believe, and Gabriel would be able to call down both Michael and Lucifer in a heartbeat.

The humans pushed the cot against the wall, while Castiel strode around in a circle. “While the fire burns, no angel can touch or pass through the flames without being destroyed. I will sense Gabriel’s approach, but we will have to act quickly.”

Dean pulled a lighter from his pocket, expression grim. “I’m ready.”

Castiel nodded. “Bobby Singer, you are not known to the angels yet. You ought to leave.” Castiel put the jar with the remaining oil on the ground and strode over to the man, taking his hand.

“Ow, what the hell!”

“Apologies.” Castiel removed his hand, revealing the sigil he’d carved into Bobby’s palm. “This will hide you from angels for now. Paint it on doors and windows to ward a building. Now go.”

“Thanks…” Bobby looked past Castiel at the brothers. “Take care, boys. And stay in touch.”

“See you, Bobby,” they replied, in unison. Castiel found the harmony both startling and beautiful.

Bobby threw a last uneasy glance at Castiel, then turned his back and hurried up the stairs.

Castiel faced the brothers again. “Not much longer.”

 

In the end, it wasn’t Gabriel who arrived first. Castiel had never expected to see this particular brother of his again, especially not after Gabriel had informed him that he had taken Castiel’s position as Anael’s assassin – or if he did, he would have expected Samandriel to be there to kill him. That might be the case now, but he still commanded Dean to wait.

The lighter flickered out and Dean looked at him in confusion, but Castiel had to focus his energy on the young angel. He kept his wings in a neutral position, not intimidating and not submissive, and looked on as Samandriel landed with the swiftness and surety that was his own.

“Brother.”

“Castiel. Are these-”

“They are the vessels. And they are under my protection. I don’t want to fight you, brother, but I will if I have to.”

Samandriel shook his head. His vessel was still occupied, even after all this time, even after the atrocities he had to have committed, if Gabriel had told the truth. “I did not come here to fight, Castiel, but others might.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I looked up to you, Castiel. You have a great heart. Now leave. Gabriel is coming.”

“Cas…” Sam asked from Castiel’s left.

“We cannot leave. Gabriel will always be able to find me. We have to trap him here.”

Samandriel moved to the edge of the room, his actions made stealthy and fluid through practice. “Holy Oil?”

“Of course.”

“Then I will stall him.”

“Thank you, brother.”

Samandriel nodded and hid himself. Castiel could still sense his presence, barely, and perhaps only because he himself had used the technique countless times. He wasn’t sure now, his memory in such matters not as clear as it once had been, but he might even have trained Samandriel in it. It was of no importance now – he was unlikely to see the angel alive again. His gratitude, of course, was boundless, but for now, he had to keep it hidden from Gabriel.

The archangel’s entrance was not as anticlimactic as Samandriel’s. His arrival shook the building with thunder, and he descended with all three sets of wings extended, position imposing and commanding. A while ago, Castiel would not have been able to stand against him, but things had changed.

He watched the circle of Oil flare up around the archangel, his own wings extended tall and protectively in front of the Winchesters.

Gabriel did not seem very perturbed by the trap, his posture melting a fraction to approach his usual laid-back, almost human attitude – Castiel, however, could still perceive the tension. “Castiel, really? Two humans and an angel against every angel _and_ demon in creation? Have you lost your mind, little bro?

“It looks to me like he’s the only sane angel out there,” Dean spoke up to Castiel’s right. “Have you all gone crazy up there on your clouds? I thought angels were meant to protect humans.”

Gabriel stabbed his finger into Dean’s direction. “You know nothing about angels, Deano. We were a family, once. Your apocalypse – it’s been our Sunday dinner for eons! You can’t imagine what it’s like to see your brothers and sisters _tear each other apart_ constantly. It just needs to be over.”

“And screw up my family and fry the planet in process, that it?”

“Dean.” Castiel extended his wing to hold Dean back and behind it.

Gabriel’s gaze darted from the human to Castiel and back. “Suck it up! You’ll get paradise, and the fighting will finally stop!”

“Really? Because you don’t sound awfully sure about that. Sounds to me like you’re just too afraid to stand up to your family. Big brothers having a pissing match? And all you do is cheer them on?”

“Dean-”

Dean looked away from Gabriel and at Castiel. “C’mon, Cas. Let’s go.”

Castiel didn’t need to be told twice, even though he glanced back once more at Gabriel, who had fallen very silent, before he spread his wings and took the Winchesters to safety.


	7. Chapter 7

The wheat fields no longer reminded Castiel of gold – white and gold and purity had been the colours of Heaven, and Castiel had turned his back on his brothers and sisters. He stood with the Winchesters, now – just the three of them, but it was a good cause, a better cause. Creation needed to be saved, Anael had been correct in that, but not at the price of the souls of the Righteous Man and his brother, who was far from the abomination Castiel had been taught he would be. At any rate, Castiel’s choice had been made. He would fight at the Winchesters’ side – and, if necessary, die for them.

The two humans were surprisingly efficient and quick at grasping the enormity of what lay ahead. It wouldn’t take long for the word to get out that, yes, the vessels were still alive and under the protection of nothing more than a rogue angel. Once it did, the chase would begin. Michael and Lucifer would both send out their assistants, and the Apocalypse would pick up speed once more – Dean, however, wanted to derail it, and Castiel believed. He believed in the brothers more than he had in his Father for a very long time. Yes, the feeling was disquieting – but for the first time in a long time, Castiel also felt that he was doing the right thing, and he felt free.

“Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”

They had taken the Winchesters’ car far away, into an empty field under the stars. Castiel had warded the car as best as he could, and checked on the sigils he had carved into the brothers’ ribs when they first met. They were still hidden to the best of his ability, but Michael and Lucifer had ways and means to get to them. It would not be easy, never that – but perhaps the path of least resistance was, in fact, never the correct one.

“How can I be the Righteous Man? What does that even mean? I’ve been in friggin’ Hell, and for all we know, only a demon could have busted me out.”

“I don’t think that is what happened, Dean.”

“What, then?”

“I believe I was the one who raised you from perdition.”

“You? But how?”

“Time travel is difficult, but it can be accomplished. I have to leave now, Dean – but I will be back.”

 

And so, Castiel descended into Hell to save a human soul who would not remember him, and who would meet him when Castiel did not yet know him. And so he also met Samandriel again, waiting at Dean’s graveside after he had reconstructed his body and cleansed his soul – and learned of Samandriel’s loyalty after he had been told, but before the he of then knew. Samandriel, who had seen the vessels, and had reported to him that the Righteous Man had been saved by a demon protecting his son, when he had been raised by a fallen angel protecting his friends.

Time travel was complex, but Castiel did not think he was overstepping its bounds. There was a certain poetry in the absence of destiny – something Dean and Sam would probably have called “Free Will”, though Castiel thought it deserved a more impressive title. But perhaps that was the whole point: that something so unassuming, so simple, should derail the Apocalypse that had been hanging over his head for so long he barely could imagine an existence without it. But, oh, what promise that existence held.  

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Supernatural et al © CW, WB and Erik Kripke. No infringement intended, no money made.


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